three little words (don't always mean I love you)
by KneelOnlyAtLast
Summary: A collection of one-shots focused around our heroes' thoughts and feelings during canon moments when three words changed their lives.


**A/N: Hey guys! I've been apart of The 100 fandom for a long time, but this is the first time I'm posting something about it. I'm going to be upfront and say that yes, I am a Bellarke shipper at heart, but I also really liked Clexa and how complex that relationship was. Everyone's welcome here. Hope you like it!**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Clarke."

Lexa stared straight ahead as she led her army back through the forest. Her steps were steady and even, her war paint showing no signs of smearing. She had refused to let the tears fall. Tears showed emotion. Tears showed weakness.

No, only with _her _had Lexa's floodgates opened, and with her they had closed. No other would be privilege to the sheen in her green eyes. As she had turned away from the mountain, from _her_, Lexa had steeled herself, had willed her tears to go away. Now her face was stoic, chin tilted slightly upwards as if issuing a silent challenge to the earth itself.

_You've taken everything from me. What more can you reap from my soul?_

Lexa closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She should be happy. She had just freed her people from an enemy that had plagued them for generations. She had rescued every clan member from the depths of the mountain. Soon they would arrive at Polis. Families would be reunited in a day's time. Parents who were trapped in the mountain, who had never gotten to see their young ones grow up, would come home to meet the men and women their children had become. Spouses would embrace for the first time in years. Feasts would be held. Celebratory gatherings would convene in the marketplace. Pyres would be built and burned to honor every man, woman, and child whose lives had been claimed by the mountain.

The time for peace was almost upon them, all because of Lexa. She had done what those before her had failed to do. She had united the clans. She had saved her people. She should be _proud. _So why did she feel so ashamed?

She knew the answer. It glared back at her through shattered blue eyes every time she closed her own. Blue eyes that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her days. Eyes that were once filled with so much fire. Eyes that Lexa herself had snuffed the light out of with three little words.

"_I'm sorry, Clarke."_

Lexa never apologized. It was the way of the Commander. To apologize was to admit one was wrong, to admit inferiority, to admit weakness, if even for a single moment. Submission and confession were for the weak. No, if Lexa knew she was wrong, she would ask advice. She would ask what was required of her. But she would never ask forgiveness.

Lexa hadn't apologized for accusing Raven of attempted assassination, nor for proceeding with the undeserved punishment. Instead she had freed the innocent girl and dispensed justice upon the guilty. What was in the past could not be changed, and while _Lexa _was truly sorry to have inflicted pain upon Raven, the _Commander _could feel no remorse.

So when she had looked straight into those blue eyes at the mountain, when she had whispered her apology, begging for forgiveness with her own eyes, Lexa knew that the blonde understood the gravity of her words. What they revealed about how their story would end. Two desperate leaders had come together to fight for their people. Two desperate leaders had sacrificed for their people's freedom. But only one would walk away. One would march down the mountain in victory, with all of her people at her back, while the other would be left hopeless. A lone figure who had had everything ripped away from her in the blink of an eye.

(She wished their story could have ended differently.)

Lexa didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about the past, of what she used to have. She didn't want to think about the future, of what could have been. And she didn't want to think about the present, of what she couldn't change.

And yet her heart was screaming that she deserved this. She deserved to think about what she had done. She deserved to _feel _the consequences. She deserved to feel her heart breaking open in her chest. She deserved to think of her, to remember her, to be haunted by _her. _She owed her that much.

(She owed her so much more.)

Lexa began to feel her mask of indifference slipping. She glanced at the sky and was surprised to see the moon had moved considerably higher. It had to have been an hour or two at least since they had left the mountain. Had she been lost in thought for that long?

Looking ahead, she felt her breath catch in her throat. They had reached the camp where they would be resting for the night before continuing their march at down. The camp that they had just left, ready for war.

(Lexa briefly wonders how so much can happen in such little time.)

Everything was still in place, all of the tents left standing, and Lexa felt her heart clench when she remembered why. _She _had planned it that way. She had said that her friends and Lexa's people would need to rest when they got back. By leaving the camp exactly as it was, they would save time and energy. She said it would make both of their people happy.

Lexa watched as her own people filed into the closest canvas structures. She already knew there were more than enough to provide shelter for all of them. She watched as her warriors took down the extra tents to ensure they were ready to move at first light.

(Tents that Lexa knew should have been filled.)

She spared her own shelter a fleeting glance before turning away. She couldn't go in there. Not when she could still feel soft lips on her own. Not when she could still picture those same lips trembling as she realized her people weren't coming out.

(As she realized what Lexa had done.)

Lexa's gaze swept over her people. She was met with grateful smiles and eyes filled with wonder. They thought her a hero, she realized. The idea made her sick. What kind of hero achieves victory by ripping it away from the hands of the more deserving?

_Victory stands on the back of sacrifice,_ a voice in her head taunts her. Lexa now knows that saying is not true. Because Lexa had sacrificed nothing and walked away with everything. But _she _had sacrificed everything and was left with nothing.

Suddenly the excited chatter of reunited loved ones became too loud, the flickering fires they gathered around too bright. Lexa's breathing became imperceptibly shallower. She had to get away.

Lexa surveyed the camp until she found who she was looking for. Indra was standing near one of the fires, overseeing the care of the wounded. Lexa took a step forwards only to stop herself a second later. She wanted to leave, to put Indra in charge and escape her responsibilities for this one night. She needed to be alone.

But how could she ask that? She was the Commander. She should need nothing. She shouldn't show weakness. She couldn't. Lexa had nearly convinced herself to push down her emotions and walk the other way when Indra, feeling eyes on her, turned to meet the gaze of her Commander.

Indra's hard eyes softened a fraction as she took in the young leader's tensed muscles and clenched jaw. Anyone else would have believed that she was fine, but Indra knew her better than that. She knew how much this was affecting Lexa, and if she was being honest, betraying Skaikru was taking a toll on herself too. The loss of Octavia and Lincoln hurt Indra more than she wanted to admit. Looking into Lexa's eyes, Indra saw her unspoken request.

She gave Lexa a slight nod before turning her attention back to the injured people who had been imprisoned in the mountain. The meaning was clear—Indra would pretend she saw nothing and cover for her. She knew Lexa refused to show weakness to others and that she needed a moment alone. After what had happened tonight, Indra thought the least she could do was oblige her. Lexa was grateful.

She quickly glanced around to make sure she wasn't being watched then took off into the forest. She ran until she could no longer see the dim light of the fires her people sat around. She had no specific destination, all she knew was that she had to get away. She wandered aimlessly until she heard the sound of rushing water.

She followed the sound until she stumbled out of the trees and onto the edge of a little clearing. She stood on the bank of a small lake. To her right was a short waterfall, a glorified stream dropping off the edge of a rock in all honesty, but it was beautiful to Lexa. It was so peaceful, so different than the waves of emotion roaring in her heart.

She made her way to the edge of the water and slowly dropped to her knees, staring at her reflection. Her dark war paint had faded some, but was still clearly distinguishable. Blood was smeared across her face, sharply contrasting her green eyes and tan skin. She looked like she just fought a war.

(She wished she had.)

And as she kneeled over the lake, staring into her own eyes that seemed to turn a certain shade of blue in the water, Lexa finally allowed the tears to fall.

They cut through the dirt and blood on her face, through the mask of war paint, leaving clean trails in their wake before dripping of her chin into the water, rippling her reflection below.

As her chest began to heave and her breath began to quicken, she forced herself to think of the name she had been desperately trying to repress, to say it for the first time since she left her.

"Clarke," Lexa choked out in a whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Part of Lexa hoped Clarke would survive, that she would realize she had no other options left and walk back down that mountain. Part of her even dared to hope that Clarke would find a way in and save her people without being killed by the Mountain Men. She had escaped before, surely she could escape again?

Lexa crushed that thought immediately. She was no fool. Clarke had been the first to cheat the mountain. She would not be so lucky the second time. But Lexa knew that wouldn't stop her. Clarke was nothing if not stubborn, if not brave and reckless to a fault. She would either get into that mountain and save her people or die trying. She would never leave them behind. She was too honorable for that, too loyal.

_You took advantage of that loyalty. And even if she lives, she'll never look at you the same again._

Lexa could feel herself spiraling. Because as much loss as she felt, she knew Clarke was feeling more. As much as Lexa had sacrificed, Clarke had sacrificed _more_.

Lexa's heart ached as she remembered how Clarke had killed her own loved one for their alliance. Yes, the boy had been guilty, but the night he died Lexa saw the remorse and self-loathing in his eyes and knew that he had not always been a killer. He couldn't have been, for Clarke to have loved him.

She remembered how swiftly Clarke had agreed to burning his body with the victims in TonDC.

"_We'll do it. But when it's over, we talk about how to get our people out of Mount Weather. _All_ of our people."_

"_We want the same things Clarke."_

(The words, once honest and true, taste like such a bitter lie now.)

She remembered the conversation between Clarke and her mother after she had exited the tent when they thought she couldn't hear them.

"_Clarke, you don't have to do this."_

"_Yes, I do. If this truce doesn't hold, I killed Finn for nothing."_

Lexa choked down a sob as she realized what Clarke had to know by now. Her words had become reality. When Clarke needed their truce the most, it had crumbled. The boy's death _was_ for nothing. It had cost Raven's trust and Clarke's soul, and it was for _nothing._

(It was for Lexa, and Lexa had made it for nothing.)

Her tears continued to fall as her heart continued to bombard her with memories of Clarke. Memories of all that Clarke had lost because of Lexa.

She had been the one to convince Clarke to let the bombe drop on TonDC, saying it would save Bellamy, that it would save her people. Clarke had relented, and it had cost her Octavia's friendship and her mother's love.

She remembered how Octavia had hated Clarke afterwards, yet Clarke had still risked everything to keep her safe and prevent Lexa from killing her. Lexa didn't think Octavia ever found out that Clarke had threatened Lexa, had risked the alliance, for her.

Nor did Lexa think the young Blake truly realized how much Clarke valued her life in spite of her hatred.

"_You sent him to kill Octavia? I told you she's not a problem."_

"_Leave us."_

"_No, I'm not letting him out of my sight!"_

Lexa desperately tried to repress the words she and Clarke had exchanged alone afterwards, the accusations Clarke had made. She couldn't face those. She couldn't relive those. Not when she could feel her back bumping against the table as Clarke unveiled the secrets Lexa thought she had locked away where no one could see. Not when her own words mocked her.

"_Not you."_

(Not yet.)

Instead she imagined Clarke's blazing eyes in the moment after as she told her that Octavia was a deal breaker.

"_I can't sacrifice my people anymore. If you do anything to hurt Octavia, I'll tell everyone we knew about the missile."_

Lexa let out a strangled sob as she realized that she had taken everything from Clarke. The boy Clarke loved was dead, killed by Clarke's own hand. Her friends in the mountain would die. Her friends who were left hated her for what she had done. Clarke hate _herself _for what she had done.

Clarke had sold her soul to Lexa in return for her people, and Lexa had stolen both.

(Neither filled the gaping hole left in her chest.)

* * *

Later, Lexa would hear of Skaikru's victory over the mountain. She would hear warriors speak in awe of the destruction left behind, of the dead men, women, and children. Tales were told of the great Wanheda who conquered the mountain with a mere band of faithful warriors at her back.

And Lexa's heart would break all over again that night.

Because Clarke had saved her people. Lexa had left her to die, yet she had survived. Clarke was _alive_.

But she would never be the same.

Clarke hated the bloodshed of innocents. The boy she loved had committed that crime, and she had had to kill him for it. If the stories were true, then there were no survivors left in the mountain, not even children. Finn had only killed eighteen, Clarke must have killed hundreds.

Clarke had become the very thing she loathed for her people.

Because of Lexa.

Clarke's tender heart had strived so hard to be good and pure. But Lexa knew that it would be hardened now, stone-cold and sharp as steel. Her eyes, once so full of compassion and hope, would be empty and lifeless. The bright fire raging within them would be turned to ashes, haunted by the guilt tormenting her. Her eyes would never be the same. _Clarke _would never be the same.

The thought made Lexa's heart shatter into a million pieces.

Because not only had she stolen Clarke's soul, Lexa had broken her spirit.

And someone had once told her that the spirit of a Sky person only lived one life.

(Lexa desperately wished that Clarke's spirit could have stayed where it was.)


End file.
